Scattered Thoughts
by randomsomeone
Summary: A collection of unrelated, mostly lighthearted GaaSaku ficlets. The pair seems to enjoy abusing each other . . .
1. The Hazards of Snuggling

My profile was getting a little too crowded, so I decided to bring some of the less smutty works over here. Each chapter is its own ficlet; warnings and whatnot will be at the tops. The general rating is high just in case, and the characters are Kishimoto's, not mine. Sorry for the **ooo** scene breaks, but the site ate my normal little dots.

**The Hazards of Snuggling**  
200 words  
T for implied situations

* * *

Gaara wasn't quite sure what he'd done to deserve it. But there she was anyway, her body draped across his and heavy in a way that apparently only a sleeping person's could be. To make things worse, she was possibly—no, make that _definitely_ drooling on his shoulder, and a warm thigh had shoved its way a _little_ too high up between his. A sense of self-preservation had prompted him to attempt shifting away from her earlier, but she'd only clung tighter, edging the pressure of her leg from uncomfortable to somewhat alarming.

But he didn't try to wake her. Instead he brushed his lips against pink hair and wrapped his arms around her as best he could, rubbing his fingertips against her spine and breathing silent thanks when she relaxed again—because he knew why she clung, what it felt like to be left behind, why she'd coaxed him into their situation and into her bed to begin with as well as why he'd allowed himself to be coaxed. And because of this knowledge, he could forgive her the unknowing abuses.

No, he wasn't sure of what he'd done to deserve it, but he didn't really mind at all.


	2. Innuendo

**Innuendo  
**100 words  
T for safety  
Crackfic!

* * *

"Well, of _course_ Gaara's is bigger," Naruto heard her say to Ino. "I mean, _look_ at him."

Beside him, Gaara appeared entirely too smug. Naruto tried not to stare. How would she . . .

"_Huge,"_ he heard her expound.

Noticing his attention, the redhead shrugged and smirked even more.

"I still think yours is the biggest," Ino replied.

Gaara suddenly didn't seem so sure of himself.

"Yeah, probably," Sakura grinned, abashed.

Naruto'd definitely missed something. And Gaara . . . looked positively _horrified._

From across the street, both girls regarded them with mild curiosity. "Do you think forehead size is a factor for being Kazekage?"


	3. One Wrong Move

**One Wrong Move  
**About 1400 words  
T for themes  
Lots of crack!

* * *

"I knew something was up when the shrieking didn't stop," Temari told her. "But I didn't really expect _that."_

Knowing fully well what it would mean for shrieking to abruptly stop in a situation involving Gaara, Sakura shuddered dramatically.

"So let me get this straight," Temari continued, as the two girls walked into the bathhouse. "You ripped your shirt during training today. Since you couldn't fix it then and there, you covered it with an illusion of a normal shirt and went home to change."

"Yeah," Sakura nodded, slipping her shoes off as they passed through the doorway.

"And on your way home, you took a shortcut that went by where we're staying while we're here, and you ran into my little brother."

"_He_ ran into _me," _the pink-haired girl muttered. "More like cornered me . . ."

"You were wandering around the building cloaked in layers of high-level genjutsu. That'll make Gaara antsy. So anyway–"

"His idea of antsy is demanding that I drop the illusion on the spot, then coming after me when I don't?"

"He's just looking out for us," Temari grinned. "It's possibly hostile territory. Better safe than sorry."

Someone seemed sorry for the entire business, though—why else would Temari have offered to treat her to a few hours at the spa? Sakura couldn't think of a reason...except for curiosity about the position in which the blonde had caught her little brother. Her suspicions were confirmed when Temari requested a private bathing room. The moments the Sand-nin needed to figure out where to store her fan let Sakura rinse off and hop into the pool alone, all the while trying to rationalize her own behavior. After a few more minutes, Temari joined her, slipping into the water so stealthily that Sakura completely missed her approach.

"So . . ." Sakura took a deep breath to continue the story before she could be asked again. "So I thought he was gonna kill me when he came after me, so I went for him too. I tried to get around his sand, one thing led to another, and he put his hand through the genjutsu."

Up to her neck in the warm water, Temari arched her eyebrows. "Stopped one fight and started another?"

"Yeah."

"After everything you two have been through, what with him trying to kill you a few times and all, all he had to do was accidentally grope you"—Temari unerringly mimicked the odd twist of the wrist her brother used—"and you went after him tooth and nail?"

"It wasn't that simple." All it had been was a fraction of a second; then he'd jerked back, sand hovering around him as if the way she crossed her arms in front of herself was threatening. Then a few more seconds while they'd stared at each other, equally shocked—then he'd asked a question he shouldn't have, she'd taken a swing at him, and the resulting blur of violence had only been punctuated by her back hitting the ground. "He's just . . . he . . . I don't know."

"I'm going to ask you to trust me on this," Temari stated. "I can promise you that what he's feeling now isn't any kind of malice. Just curiosity. That, and . . ." The blonde frowned peculiarly. "He's learning how to have fun in a way that isn't killing people. So if it hits him that all girls aren't just other enemies, and that wrestling with one is interesting and a lot different than anything from the academy . . ."

"So he's curious about how girls work, and about sex. And me. All in the same breath." Sakura rolled her eyes and moved to the middle of the pool. "I don't see how this is getting any better."

"Well, it's definitely better you than me." Hands closed over Sakura's shoulders from behind her. Temari sighed, then gave her a gentle shake. "It could've been worse, though, too. You even said that it wasn't that he was trying to molest you when I found you two rolling around on the ground, but that he was—at least _partially_—trying to keep you from taking his head off."

"I almost got him, too." And if he hadn't twisted away at that particular second, the hand she'd planted firmly under his chin would've been able to launch him into the nearest building.

Temari made a noise that sounded like a snort, but covered it with a cough.

"What?" Sakura continued. "It's not like I'm _afraid_ of him. In fact, I _dare_ him to try it again." She glared at her own hazy reflection and blocked away the memory of how she'd been certain she was dead when his sand and body had finally weighed her down to the point that she couldn't move. "Wanted to know if I was _supposed_ to squish like that . . ." she muttered, then huffed and punched at the water. "I'd pound his stupid head in! I'd give him _real_ black eyes. I'd beat him until . . . until sand came out!"

"I'd like to see you try."

The hand still on her shoulder was a little too pale to be Temari's, the voice behind her a little too deep, and Sakura's internal monologue jumped a few notches in both speed and pitch. No, it wasn't Temari, of _course_ it wasn't Temari and it probably hadn't been Temari the entire time; just someone who knew Temari well enough to fake being her, someone who'd tired of the illusions and the doubletalk, and who was learning how to have fun.

"Whenever you're ready," Gaara told her, and squeezed her shoulder amicably.

Shaking, she turned around as he backed up to the ledge by the tub's wall. She should have been relieved that he kept eye contact the entire time and that her shoulder had been the _only_ thing he squeezed, but decided to be angry instead. The first time had been an accident, sure, but the level of plotting he had to have put into it all meant that this situation wasn't in the least. He'd cut their fight short with "Temari's" appearance when it looked like she was going to panic, had gotten her to listen to his reasons in what was probably the only way possible, had gotten _ample_ opportunity to look at her . . . and now, after hearing her threats, was trying to bait her into naked wrestling.

_This_ execution, though? Naruto's bad habits seemed to have rubbed off on him. But even Naruto wouldn't have the balls to show up in a women's bath as himself, let alone be so certain that she wouldn't scream accusations and get him forcibly kicked out of Leaf altogether.

Belatedly, her mind connected his ego's size, his nudity, and way she'd just described his bravado . . . and she realized that if he stood up, she'd find out just how big they really were.

The redhead's eyes narrowed and forehead wrinkled as he regarded her curiously. "Unless you really don't mind that I'm here."

If he stood up, or if they ended up grappling again. Or both. Sakura glared at him as she started forming the seals for the strongest illusion of clothing she knew. Damn him to hell—she wouldn't pound his head in, she'd drown him.

**ooo**

Her hair was still dripping when she stormed into Tsunade's office. "I need to learn how to see through high-level genjutsu."

The Fifth looked up from her papers distractedly. "Is that a bite mark on your arm?"

"No," Sakura growled, but covered the offending bruise with one hand anyway.

Tsunade shrugged and turned. "Training will have to wait. Sand's visiting team needs an escort, and you were specifically requested."

"By?"

"The short one." Tsunade held her hand out at an approximate height. "Redheaded, no eyebrows."

Things had just gotten even better: he'd set up another encounter even before he'd gone through with the bath fiasco. Damned stupid, sneaky, genius ninja.

"He complimented your abilities, you know. Said you've grown a lot since he last saw you."

Maybe she had grown? Sakura snorted and glanced down at her own chest. Yeah, maybe. And maybe her techniques were what he was really concerned with. But . . . maybe it wouldn't be too bad. After all, at least he was complimentary. And he hadn't hurt much more than her pride, had a nice body, had been surprisingly considerate about where he put his hands, and . . .

A gigantic pair of 'em, indeed.

"He's definitely wearing pants this time."

"What?"

"Nothing!"


	4. Role Reversal

**Role Reversal  
**150 words  
low T rating  
More crack!

* * *

"No!"

"Damn it, hold still!"

Bodies pitched as resistance escalated to violence. "I said stop it!"

It took both hands and a moment of struggle for him to disarm her. Her legs clenched around his ribs anyway, forcibly squeezing Gaara's breath out. With his attention turned to gasping for to oxygen, Sakura was able to almost leisurely retrieve her weapon. She snugged her knees a little closer to his sides and leaned down over the Sand-nin teasingly, waving her makeup pencil over his face in mock threat as her tone rippled with laughter. "It won't hurt. In fact, you may even like it."

He snarled up at her, but lost any of the gesture's impact due to the crooked line that ran across his forehead. "I _don't. Want. Eyebrows."_

Sakura smirked wickedly as she caught the hand reaching for the pencil and pinned it to the ground. "I don't care."


	5. Perks

**Perks  
**597 words  
Rated M for Mini-smut

* * *

The hardest thing for him to get used to had been the attention. Gaara sighed and sank into his favorite chair, closing his eyes wearily. Before, people would make a point of avoiding him.

And now, he couldn't get a moment to himself.

So first he had to get used to the attention. Then he had to get used to how he couldn't kill the people that wouldn't let him be. Then he had to get past how it seemed that the ultimate intent of everyone crossing his path was to test his patience.

"You ok?"

Like now: he had people following him into his quarters, asking him questions he didn't want to deal with at the most inopportune times, nosing in his business, sticking their _fingers_ in his _eyes_—

He sputtered and tried to lean away through the back of his chair, with limited success. But as it started to tilt backwards, Sakura caught it—by planting one hand firmly on the seat between his legs.

"I was worried," she said.

"I _closed_ my _eyes."_

She shrugged and didn't move her hand. Gaara narrowed his eyes at her and briefly considered being aggravated some more; but he knew by now that her intent wasn't annoyance, and he was pretty certain that no one else got the same sort of job perks he did.

As if reading his interest from the flare of his nostrils, she smiled. Her fingertips brushed his thigh as she leaned a little closer. "Make it up to you?"

**ooo**

Her kisses were leisurely, matched by the slow caress of her hands working over the length of him as she knelt between his knees. Gaara tried to get her shirt open, craving her skin, but was thwarted when she pulled back. She pushed his shoulders teasingly until he slouched in the chair, then ran her hands smoothly over his body before hooking her fingers in the waist of his pants and pulling them down even farther. Her nibbling kisses against his stomach compelled him to watch; the way her hair trailed against his bare skin made his nerves tingle, made him that much more aware of her. Then her eyes closed in concentration as her mouth closed around him, and his grip tightened on his chair's arms until they creaked.

She drew back and smiled up at him as if she knew he'd be watching, then slipped out of her shorts and underclothes. Gaara reached out to touch her hair with one trembling hand as she bent down to him again, his desire mixed heavily with anticipation. Breathing raggedly, he didn't try to control the way her mouth made his thighs shake, didn't fight when the sensation slowly forced him to close his eyes, to turn his face towards the ceiling.

But there was more, and knowing this made it easier for him to not regret when she finally stopped.

Sakura straddled him, her hair tousled and half-open shirt framing her body, and he reached up to touch her face while she reached down to guide him in. Her eyes closed as they slid together, then she turned to press a kiss against his palm, shifting her body against his until she'd taken him as deep as he could manage.

"Forgive me yet?" she asked, her voice laced with humor. It wasn't a serious question, really; just part of a silly, senseless game that he couldn't dream of giving up.

"Maybe," he said, and tilted his face up to hers for more kisses, reaching for her hips to help as she started to move.


	6. Inspiration

**Inspiration  
**About 2400 words  
T for situations  
Ino's giving out relationship advice, Gaara's having fun being a jerk, and Sakura's stuck trying to figure out which one of them needs beaten more.

* * *

The day Haruno Sakura realized she had a crush on Sand's Kazekage was a terrible day indeed.

It'd started off innocuously enough: her talking to Ino over lunch at the ramen stand, her telling Ino that dealing with the afternoon's soon-to-be-arriving visitor wasn't as bad as dealing with some of the others—because after all, he was quiet and relatively polite, and wasn't _nearly_ tall enough to try to loom like some of the other guys, and he wasn't a pain in the ass like younger guys (specifically, Naruto), and once she got past the eyebrows thing it wasn't like he was too weird-looking after all, and—

It wasn't until Ino's expression completed its shift from amusedly observing to amusedly calculating that Sakura realized she'd been going on for a couple minutes.

"What?" she demanded. "It isn't like I—"

But when she thought about it for a second, she realized that it really _was_ like she liked him.

Ino read her mortified expression for what it was and offered the single worst piece of advice Sakura was sure she'd ever heard: "Just remember to wear cute underwear."

Years of being around each other meant Ino knew what would come after that. The blonde was able to dodge Sakura's flung bowl with insulting ease.

"What?" Ino taunted. "It's like a pretty bow on a gift."

She didn't _want_ to know how that was possibly supposed to make sense. "But—"

"Trust me. Just wearing them will make you feel more confident about things, too. I _promise."_

Sakura sputtered, looking for something else to throw. "But it's not even like he . . . He hasn't even _said_ anything that'd . . ."

"Someone puts a pretty bow on a gift and hands it to you, what are you gonna do?"

Sakura imagined herself handing Gaara a brightly-wrapped box, only to have him squish it.

"No!"

"It's not like he has to _know,_ you know."

But he'd know something was up when she wasn't able to look straight at him. And then he might ask if something was wrong, and she'd have to think of an excuse, and . . . She wasn't sure she'd ever been this horrified in her entire life.

"You'll thank me later," Ino smirked.

"In your _dreams,"_ Sakura snarled in reply.

But on the way to meet the Sand-nin at Tsunade's office, she still couldn't help but wonder what it was she'd put on that morning.

**ooo**

Gaara wasn't much of a talker—and if the look of his eyes was any indication, still wasn't much of a sleeper either. If he noticed her discomfiture, he didn't comment. Almost relieved by his silence, Sakura slipped fingers inside the edge of her sleeve, trying to check her bra strap's color under the cover of scratching her shoulder.

He had to notice that she wasn't saying anything.

Gaara's fingers tapped twice against the arm of the chair next to her own, the only show of his impatience with their wait thus far. And like clockwork, like Tsunade always expected and always sent Sakura to handle, his attention turned to the next most active thing in the room.

"You usually talk more."

"Thought you'd be tired of girls talking at you," she muttered. She'd seen his fan club a few times over the years, and harbored the personal opinion that he made a point of visiting Leaf in order to get away from them.

"They're different."

Being around Ino had her looking at every possible turn of phrase differently. Sakura scowled affrontedly before blurting out the first thing that came to mind: "I'd certainly hope so."

She bit her tongue the second she finished the sentence. She'd just insulted the Kazekage's shinobi to the Kazekage's face, and . . .

And he looked more amused than insulted.

This didn't mean she wasn't in deep shit, of course. Sakura tried to cover as quickly as possible, certain that the heat of her cheeks meant she'd turned bright red. "It's not that, it's that I—"

"Don't approve."

He still looked amused. She was definitely screwed.

"For an outside shinobi to notice," he said, almost to himself, "then the problem's become something I need to take care of."

Great, now she'd have a troop of pissed-off Sand kunoichi after her. "It's not really something you need to worry about, though, you know? I mean, I've only seen them a few times the past few years, for all I know—"

"You told me you noticed. How many others saw, noticed, and formed their own opinions on my lax control _without_ telling me?"

She might be setting a record for the fastest anyone in Leaf'd ever dug their own grave. "I'm sure they _mean_ well . . ."

He didn't blink.

"They're not _that_ bad, right?" she pushed. "They're completely devoted, they're determined, they'd probably do anything to get your approval . . ."

He shook his head. "They're thoroughly . . ." A pause, as if he searched for an appropriate word. "Uninspiring."

Tsunade'd taught her the value of gathering information. Ino'd kick her ass if she didn't learn her competition's weaknesses. So though her nerves demanded she just let the conversation end there, she engaged him again. "Uninspiring? How so?"

"I don't want to talk to them. I don't want them to keep me company." His shoulders moved in what might have been a shrug. "They don't make me _feel_ anything."

But he'd said that _she_ was different.

Her pulse pounded in her throat, making it hard to swallow so she could reply. "What makes you feel something, then? What is it that . . . inspires you?"

He looked up, light green eyes meeting hers, and she knew. After a second's consideration he grabbed the arm of her chair, dragged it over until they were set side by side, and leaned across the space between them. His breath grazed her cheek; then his face was directly in front of hers, eyes curious and head tilting slightly to the side as he leaned closer. She closed her eyes as she realized what was coming, then pressed her hand against his chest, grounding herself as much as soothing her own nerves by controlling him. Sakura wasn't sure if he read the gesture the wrong way or not; but the touch of his warmth faded from her skin as he pulled away.

"Maybe . . ." he murmured.

_Maybe?_ This wasn't a situation for _maybe._ But now it was her move . . . if she had the gall to go through with it. Sakura's teeth clenched—Tsunade hadn't spent that many years teaching her for her to wimp out now, damn it. Her hand fisted in his robes of office and, taking a deep breath to steel herself, she leaned over to finish what he'd started. If he looked offended at any point she'd leave off, she told herself—but he didn't look offended, not in the least; instead he looked altogether too . . .

Tsunade cleared her throat from the doorway behind them, and as Sakura jerked back away from the redheaded bastard, she realized _exactly_ why he'd looked so amused. Apparently Gaara's idea of karma involved instantaneous execution.

"I'll go now," she blurted out before she could be dismissed, and darted for the door before he could say anything that would be even _more_ incriminating.

Her feet hit the street's stones with a militaristic briskness as her anger found another target. This was definitely Ino's fault and the blonde would suffer in ways that Sakura hadn't thought up yet, but that would definitely be inhumanly horrible. So first she'd _find_ the blonde—who'd probably be hiding if she had the least bit of sense—and . . .

Her hip pouch was open, though she hadn't left it that way. The slip of paper at the top of everything wasn't something she remembered putting inside. Sakura stopped dead in the street to unfold it.

The message inside was simple: the address of a temporary apartment for higher-ranked visiting shinobi, and four words. _I would've let you._

Suddenly, she wasn't so sure who she wanted to bludgeon.

So she'd embarrassed him a little. In turn, he'd embarrassed her a lot. And she was pissed at him, yeah . . . but if she was reading things right, dropping this opportunity might mean she'd have to let Ino kick the stupidity out of her.

Wear cute underwear, Ino'd said. Sakura might just have to kill her. But . . . Well, Gaara liked red—or at least she thought he did, he seemed to wear it most of the time. So maybe if she picked out a set she figured he'd like, then that bit Ino'd mentioned about it making her more confident would work, too.

It'd take hours for his meetings to finish. She waited until dusk, stomach in knots, counting the minutes until she was sure he'd be settled in.

If all else failed, she told herself with a shaky smile, she could still take everything out on Ino.

Sakura rapped on the door to where he was staying twice and, when he answered, smiled with a bravado she certainly didn't feel. Haltingly, almost unwillingly, she forced the words out as her hands knotted frantically behind her back. "Earlier . . . We got interrupted while you were being . . . inspired?"

Veiled caution shifted to barely-discernable interest, his hands settling at opposite sides of the doorway.

"I mean . . . I didn't know if you were just playing around, or . . ."

Gaara glanced down the empty street in either direction, then focused on her, and she lost her train of thought. He met her eyes, glanced down at her mouth, looked back up again—and before she'd completely convinced herself of what he intended to do, he leaned out of the door to press a brief, paper-dry kiss to her lips.

"Interesting," he said as he retreated, and started to close the door.

Some part of her that'd lain dormant for most of her wait spun to enraged life. "You mean . . . That's _it?"_

"Yeah."

In her mind, Gaara took the brightly-wrapped present and jumped up and down on it.

She took a step forward, bringing herself almost over the doorstep in order to poke a finger at his chest. "You mean that with everything earlier and all the worrying I've done and whatever Tsunade-sama thinks of me now, and after _everything_ I've had to put up with Ino telling me—"

Gaara didn't flinch—instead, he smirked. "You wanted something else?"

There was no mistaking the way he looked at her now, and she froze mid-poke. "I—"

He was faster than she expected, grabbing her by the shirt with one hand and jerking her though the doorway before she could do more than squeak in surprise. Then his mouth was against hers; first bruisingly hard, then almost carefully as her lips parted for him.

She wasn't sure if she backed to the doorframe or if he pushed her there, but was sure that being wedged between it and him was the only thing keeping her upright.

_"Interesting,"_ he murmured again, against her cheek. Both hands ran down from her shoulders to her hips, pressing her against him in a suggestive roll, and she started talking.

"I'm not sure I . . . I didn't think you meant you . . . I . . . I know this was your idea but I thought you might . . ."

He nuzzled against her throat with an amused murmur, rubbing his face against her skin, and she started talking faster.

"And Ino said I should wear cute underwear and she's crazy, really, I don't know why I listened to her and"—and she was babbling and couldn't seem to stop—"I'll get her for this tomorrow, I swear, I told her you weren't the kind of guy who'd be—"

Inches away, his expression shifted to bemused. "Cute . . . underwear?"

Her cheeks burning, Sakura nodded.

"For me?"

Another nod, though now she'd moved far enough past embarrassment to note the softened, human lines of fascination so obvious on his features.

"Show me."

On second thought, it didn't look like she was quite done with that "embarrassed beyond comprehension" thing.

She hesitated. Gaara closed the door behind her, focusing on her again at the final, quiet click. His words came out hard enough for an order, though the curve of his lips still suggested a smile. "Show me."

She _almost_ outright balked—then reached for the zipper of her shirt, then paused again. For a moment she bickered with herself—it'd only be for a second and it was only a bra, it was _Gaara_ and she didn't even _know_ how much trouble he'd gotten her into that afternoon—but then, as she took in his widened eyes and slightly parted lips, she realized that it _was_ like she was standing in front of him dangling a present. A present that he apparently wanted very, _very_ much.

Maybe things had changed when her plan of "do better flirting with Gaara" turned to "make out with Gaara," but showing him the results of her wardrobe selection suddenly didn't seem like too terrible an idea.

As teasingly and slowly as she could, she pulled the zipper down, barely stifling a giggle as he leaned closer to try to see more quickly. He licked his lips as the dark red fabric was exposed, his fingers covering hers when she slowed too much, helping her unzip her shirt almost to her navel. Gaara's nostrils flared and eyes narrowed, and she didn't even consider stopping him when he reached up for her. Her exposed skin shivered into goose bumps as he ran a fingertip over where the lacy edge of her bra met rounded softness—and for confirmation, she had to ask. "You like it, then?"

His reply was to kiss her again.

She didn't realize he'd unzipped her shirt the rest of the way until her stomach met the fabric of his clothing, but as his fingers made it under her bra, she realized she might have to thank Ino after all.

_"Gaara?"_

Kankurou stared, wide-eyed with disbelief, from behind his little brother, and Sakura stopped thinking about thanking people and tried desperately to will herself to anywhere else. Gaara, though, looked over his shoulder entirely too casually for someone with his hands still in her clothing. "What?"

Willing herself away wasn't working, and attacking the Kazekage in front of his brother would get her into more trouble than she could ever imagine. So on second—third?—thought, she might just end up taking everything out on Ino anyway.


	7. Tangible

**Tangible  
**About 730 words  
Maybe T-rated?  
Semi-experimental, written for Challenge #21 ("Cheerful Violence," no dialogue) at lethal empathy.

* * *

Sakura knows she rolls her shoulder too much when she throws a punch. She knows her strength is in her chakra and the motion of her body—not in how far she pulls her fist back. She knows that poor form is a liability.

So when she rears back to relocate Naruto's teeth to somewhere in the back of his skull, only to have someone grab her fist and stop her . . .

She's outraged.

Halfway through her threat to the person's life, she turns to find Gaara, his pale fingers clenched firmly around hers. He doesn't even blink at the threat: If she tried it, he tells her, he'd crush her hand.

If he even moved to do it, she snaps hotly, she'd break his wrist.

Suddenly in a deadlocked rapport, they grin at each other with sardonic, sadistic amusement.

To say the least, Naruto's confused.

The blond boy breaks their agreeable silence with a dubiously innocent question about their hand-holding, and Gaara has a change of heart, releasing her with the declaration that he won't stop her this time.

**ooo**

It takes him a while to figure out why her hair bothers him. The way she treats it is a combination he doesn't understand: She cares; she does not. She's rudely chopped the pink ends off and let them be; she arranges her bangs with a medic's precision. She's not fixated on primping and fluffing and smoothing like other kunoichi her age; she pauses at a mirror to adjust the way her hair falls around her forehead protector when she thinks no one's watching.

It must be the half-attentive, half-negligent way she goes about dealing with the locks that holds his attention. It's not that the almost-deliberate mess and length remind him of the faded, creased photo he still has after all these years; the photo he's never been able to bring himself to get rid of.

Their blood is still a part of his sand—hers as well as Yashamaru's. Mixing. Mingling. If he listens, searches for long enough, those tiny dried flecks of their lives might still be found.

Rather than think of that, he distracts himself, telling himself he's interested in her hair instead of her eyes, her hands, the spark of her temper and healing, liquid ripple of her laugh.

He ponders it, staring off into space that she just happens to inhabit, until he realizes that Sakura's watching how he watches her.

He tells her that her hair's practical before he walks away, leaving her to figure out what he means.

**ooo**

He thinks her mementos are silly.

It's not an outright statement, but she reads it in how Gaara's eyes skim over the items decorating her bookshelves, then in the tightening of his mouth as he looks away.

It's not like he can tell her he doesn't keep anything like that—he almost _has_ to. Attaching memories to something tangible, something she's able to reach out and hold, makes them that much more real—because for her, at least, they're touchstones; a memorybook composed of textures and colors, paints and porcelain and photos, sea glass and a string of dried flowers.

Her memories of him are the faint lines of sandburns on her skin, are visible in the old hospital records documenting the hairline fractures on her ribs from when she unsuccessfully tried to face him—but she won't tell him that, because he's at her side and she's sure he almost understands.

To throw them away, she explains, would be to throw away what she's lived and experienced—for how else but by keeping them close would she be able to so readily call upon these memories? If they were gone, she might forget to remember—but with them within reach, so easy to touch—

She's not sure when this became about _him_ touching _her_—but his arms are around her waist and her hand's gripping his throat, and she tells him that if he doesn't back up, she'll hit him.

He doesn't. She doesn't, either.

Silence is their companion; their untried closeness is awkward with newness but steadies as his fingers link with hers for the second time. And for a few moments in the quiet and stillness they each forget their threats of violence, both casual and not, for the solace of the other's company.


	8. Attention

**Attention  
****Word Count:** about 800  
**Rating:** K, perhaps  
Speedwriting exercise for Challenge 23 at the Gaara/Sakura community  
Time to complete: Twenty minutes  
Time to fix: About forty minutes

* * *

If he'd had more experience with people, he might have seen it coming. He wondered a little at first when Sakura smiled at him and told him that any friend of Naruto's was a friend of hers—but that wasn't anything to worry about, so he eventually forgot about it. And she didn't act in any sort of different way, either . . . at first.

She told him that in her professional medic opinion, he looked like he needed fed better, and promptly did so. And the food was good, so he didn't complain.

She told him he needed to relax more, and when it looked like he'd ignore her she sat down behind him and dug her fingers into his shoulders to show him just how tense he really was. And when she finally finished (and he was face-down on his desk, feeling more like a puddle than a human being), she told him that a walk would help too, and wouldn't he come with her?

She told him he needed to smile more . . . And that attempt got nowhere. But she smiled at him anyway, as if it did.

He told himself her association with him was probably encouraged by Leaf for political reasons, and that keeping him company probably kept her out of the hospital on difficult days. He blew the attention and meals and occasional backrub off as his being a friend by extension.

He found himself getting ready for lunch at Sand and wishing he could have _her_ particular homemade donburi instead.

He found himself missing the damp brush of grass between his toes, on the days where they eschewed sandals in order to walk barefoot through a meadow.

He sulked, and found himself not especially good at sulking. So he went back to visit on semi-official business. The Fifth Hokage hadn't been expecting him, Sakura said—which meant the woman was still hung over from the night before—but she herself needed to collect some cherry bark, and would he like to accompany her?

He briefly reflected that she could probably lead him into a trap, and he'd happily follow anyway.

He didn't sulk; he brooded. She didn't seem to notice. "You know," she said, clutching her carrying basket in both hands in front of her and smiling at the sky, "that's part of what I like about you. You let a girl to her own thoughts."

He was definitely getting tired of sulking.

She slipped on the way back, offhandedly mentioning that Tsunade'd ought to be up by then, and he used the opportunity to suggest they sit and enjoy the sunlight a little more—just in case.

She took the time to weave wildflowers into the edge of her basket. He took the time to try to figure out what he was doing with her.

He'd tried paying attention to some of Sand's kunoichi before, out of misguided curiosity and a general craving for human contact, but those attempts had fallen through. The attention had just encouraged them; and in the single instance where he'd reached out to embrace one she'd giggled and tittered on so mindlessly he'd hated himself almost as much as he hated her.

But Sakura . . .

Well, he knew she wasn't mindless, and he knew—okay, hoped—she wouldn't make a fool of herself if he paid more attention to her. So after a few more moments of deliberation, Gaara decided that if he was going to come on to her, he'd might as well do it with the subtlety of a rockslide.

She didn't shy away when he wrapped an arm around her waist; she didn't pull back or giggle or even really blush. And in a second she shifted closer, draped her arm across his shoulders, and smiled at him. "Took you long enough."

He must've looked confused, because she elaborated: "I told Temari you seemed interesting, and she told me that if I outright came on to you, you'd blow me off as another fangirl. So I let you think starting a relationship was your own idea . . . and it looks like it worked."

A _relationship._ He frowned at their feet. So _that's_ what this was supposed to be.

Hers was a sneaky, long-running plan, built on good faith and ample patience. He'd grown to know her and like what he knew, all while she waited for him to come around. And Temari'd been right—his usual admirers annoyed him more than anything. But well-thought-out pursuit by someone interesting, someone worth his time? He couldn't help but be intrigued. And this case was even more exciting: he'd seen her capabilities but hadn't had the chance to actually test them himself. Angering her brought about the very real possibility that she'd turn into a formidable opponent. Gaara squeezed her, delighted—he'd probably never been this turned on in his life.

"Gaara?" When he didn't move, her voice shifted from cautious to hard. "Get your hand off my ass."

This "relationship" thing looked like it was going to be the most fun he'd had in _ages._


	9. Complete Innocence

**Complete Innocence**  
200 words  
T for innuendo  
I spun off a suggestion in the review boards for a "Caption my doggie's picture!" prompt at my Gj, and this was the end result. And yes, my ot3 is showing.

* * *

Sakura'd told the guy she wasn't interested, told him she was waiting for her (imaginary) boyfriend, and was about to tell him exactly what to do with himself when Gaara showed up. It seemed that being able to put her fist through a stone wall warranted Gaara's attention, made her interesting. And in Gaara's world, "interesting" meant "potential sparring partner."

Sakura weighed the options as the redhead murmured a greeting and leaned against the ramen stand's counter: Sparring with Gaara again, or dealing with . . .

She realized her company had gone silent a breath before realizing her missing invisible boyfriend had appeared.

Gaara ignored her companion and half-finished meal. "Still sore from last time?"

"You weren't that bad," she giggled. He'd dragged her out to the training grounds the week before to test his shields against her chakra. Neither of them'd had anything broken—she figured she'd done well.

"Want to go again?"

"Sure."

"Let's get Naruto, too. I'd like to try you both at once."

"We'll see if he's up for it." Sakura smiled and took his arm, guiding him away from their boggling bystander.

Later, she'd claim to have no idea how the rumors got started.


	10. Games Played

Once upon a time, Random was a silly fangirl with a Wildly OOC Drunken Gaara muse. Then one day Random took on a crackfic challenge, and the Wildly OOC Drunken Gaara muse got loose. This is the result. It's not perfect, but it's at least worth a giggle or four.

**Games Played**  
About 2000 words  
T rating  
Crackfic!

* * *

Gaara staggered out of the Hokage's office, paused, wobbled, and started a directionless weaving meander down the hallway—and if Sakura hadn't been in the building that night, there'd be no telling what kind of trouble he'd have gotten himself into.

At first she didn't know what was wrong with him. "Gaara, are you—"

Then she got close enough to smell him, smell his breath, and knew.

_Oh please oh please oh please let him be a happy drunk—_

"I know you," he said, blinking slowly and listing from side to side.

The first words out of her mouth worked best: "Do I want to know?"

"She said I should try t' loosen up and have a drink sometime." He pointed back in the direction of the office. "She. Her. The Kaze . . . Hokage. Tits out to here." He held his hands out to better illustrate his point, then frowned petulantly. "I don't think they're real."

Her jaw dropped.

Tsunade'd already been halfway toasted when Gaara'd arrived for their meeting. Sakura groaned inwardly—_please,_ she pleaded, _tell me she didn't—_

But she already knew the answer. Cringing, she asked, "How much did you have?"

"I dunno. Tasted bad. Could've been worse. Still don't see the fun in it." His eyes narrowed as he focused on her. "My lips feel funny."

And if she listened closely, she could hear the Fifth . . . snoring. "What happened?"

"She passed out. Means I won." He nodded, smiling knowingly.

Oh dear.

And if Tsunade was out of commission . . . It looked like it was up to Sakura to get the guest of honor to a safe bed somewhere.

"Where are you staying?" she asked, moving to his side and trying to start him walking again.

"Dunno. You're pretty."

Any other day, that kind of blithely-tossed compliment would've turned her into a red-cheeked, tongue-tied mess. But with him in this state? Chances of letting the Kazekage crash on her couch just became exponentially smaller.

But she wasn't sure where else to put him. And if she let him wander around by himself . . .

One day she'd learn how to surgically remove that damned conscience thing of hers.

She rubbed her forehead and grimaced, then hooked his elbow with her own again. "I'll keep you out of trouble if you don't do anything awful, okay?"

"Okay."

It turned out that he wasn't a happy drunk—he was a _loud_ drunk. Sakura hadn't heard this many words come out of his mouth in all the years she'd known him put together. The Sand-nin kept up a running commentary all the way down the hallway and out of the building, on everything from Tsunade's drinking habits to how his new dress pants didn't fit right, to how Leaf's buildings were funny because they didn't even make all of them out of rock, so how the hell would they be able to stand for very long, and oh yeah he was hungry.

And if his change of direction was any indication, it was because he'd seen a ramen stand.

She latched harder onto his arm and set her feet. "No."

"But I wanna ramen. Why not?"

Her new title would be Haruno Sakura, defender of the Kazekage's reputation. "Because you're drunk, Gaara."

She thought he'd deny it in the same vehement way Tsunade did. Instead he stopped, looked at her confusedly, and frowned with a soft "Huh."

And . . . Wow, liquor'd loosened him up to the point that he'd started emoting. The guy almost looked crushed. "How about we get takeout?" she tried. "I'll take you home and feed you there."

"Okay," he said placidly. "Takeout sounds good. I like takeout. Do they have liver?"

It was a good thing the Kazekage wasn't bad-looking—his diet might put people off. "They have ramen."

"Okay," he said, wrapping an arm around her to steady himself, then squeezing playfully. "Squish!"

Time to break this up,_ now._ "On second thought, stay here." She leaned him against a wall in the shadows half a block away from the ramen stand, then ended up peeling his arms from around her when he playfully tried to hold on. "I'll get the food and be back in just a second, all right?"

"Okay."

It only took a few minutes—minutes she spent with her head down on the counter, hoping upon hope that no one she knew walked in or by. Or that no one wandered by Gaara, startled him, and got their arms ripped off.

She hoped he wasn't doing anything too terribly—

Screw that. She really hoped he was still there.

Sakura only realized how absolutely despondent she'd looked when the stand owner gave her a discount. She thanked him, grabbed the take-out bags he offered, and scrambled to where she'd left Gaara, hoping upon hope that—

He was still there. Just without his pants. Sakura took one look and almost dropped their ramen.

"It's okay," he said, as calmly as if he wasn't standing out in the street in his undershorts. "They didn't fit right."

"But—" Her mind stuttered, refusing to let her process any thoughts into a sentence. "But— No. Put them back on. Now."

"No."

"Gaara, we're outside. There's people—"

"No one now."

All right, she got it. Gaara'd missed out on having a childhood and was trying to work it all in tonight. Sakura took a deep breath and tried to find a way around the problem. It could definitely be worse. She could work with this situation. She could genjutsu pants onto his skinny—okay, so it wasn't too skinny anymore.

Okay, she needed to stop looking.

She grumbled under her breath and set about getting _some_ sort of cover on him. But there was one problem with the genjutsu: Illusionary pants or not, a very drunken Kazekage still kept meandering and stumbling like a very drunken Kazekage.

"Gaara, stop."

"I can walk." He stutter-stepped to a halt as she moved in front of him, his hands catching her upper arms to keep himself from falling on her. She froze at his proximity; drunk or not, up close, in the moonlight, he was very, _very—_

"Hmf," he said, and leaned in to press his mouth to hers.

The kiss dazzled her senses, overrode any common sense, and was altogether fantastic—for about half a second. Then she realized he smelled and tasted so much like alcohol that she couldn't think of anything else, and had to pull back.

"Gotta get you home for food," she said quickly, as cover.

"Mhm," he replied, wrapping his arms around her even as she tried to untangle herself.

This wasn't going to work at all—especially if she intended to hold an illusion. So, running out of ideas, she grabbed him as quickly as she could and flipped him over her shoulder.

Damn it, if he wasn't such a big stinking drunk she could've actually _enjoyed_ that!

Sakura grit her teeth, concentrated as hard as she could on setting and keeping the illusion in place, and started running through her options once she got him home. She'd put him on her couch and hope he stayed still. She'd put him on the couch and hope he'd let her get away from it. She'd put him on the couch and give him more sake until he passed out.

"Hey," Gaara said, as if he'd discovered something new and amazing—and fit his hand to the curve of her rear. "When'd you get _this?"_

Hell with that, she'd choke him unconscious.

She needed a promotion. Or at least a raise.

It was only a few blocks, and she walked them as briskly as she could. And even though it was killing her to do so, letting him hold on to her backside kept him from squirming loose.

The illusionary Gaara was quiet and stately and calmly walking her to her apartment. The real Gaara dug his hand into her back pocket and kept talking, his tone as carefree as if they were playing a game. "I'm still hungry."

"We'll eat when we get there."

"I'm hungry _now."_

"It'll just be a minute."

"I want down."

"No."

"I gotta pee."

"Hold it."

Silence for a few steps; then: "Why's it spin when I close my eyes?"

She wondered if running there would jostle him to the point that he puked on her back.

He was rummaging through her other pockets when they arrived, pulling her keys out and handing them to her happily. Sakura sighed and accepted them. At least she'd made it there. Dealing with him when she got in the house, of course, would prove—

Someone tapped her on the arm, startling her so badly that the illusion cracked and dissipated—leaving her on her doorstep with a pantsless Kazekage draped over her shoulder, grabbing her ass like it was the last stable thing in the world.

"Sakura, do . . ." Kakashi trailed off, frowned, and scratched his head. "Should I even ask?"

"I'm goin' to her place," Gaara declared, and slapped her rump. "She bought dinner—I'll put out."

That did it. She spun and dropped him into Kakashi's arms. "No. _No._ I just . . ." She'd kill them both. "_No more. _No."

Kakashi watched, his visible eyebrow arched with intrigue as Gaara struggled loose, and she slammed her door shut in both of their faces.

Her shoulders thunked into the door as she leaned back, furious with absolutely everyone involved—herself included. Trust her good intentions to bite her in the face. Or kiss her, grope her, and probably ruin her life by making her teacher think she was a raging pervert out to take advantage of the neighboring country's military leader.

She was so busy being angry with everything that she didn't notice the sand leaking in under her door.

The little swirl of sand in the air caught her attention—then Gaara materialized and half-stumbled, half-lunged towards her. His arms and hands thudded against the door, leaving him looming as best he could from inches away, reeking of alcohol and smiling a huge toothy tanuki grin. "Hi."

She yelped. And when he reached for her hands, she panicked—she was going to get molested by a drunken—

As she desperately tried to figure out whether she should hit him or start screaming, Gaara plucked the takeout from her hands, plopped down in the middle of the floor, and started eating . . . _her_ ramen.

"Sakura," Kakashi called politely from outside. "Do you need a hand?"

"No," she finally answered. "I think he's all right."

She sat down and picked at her meal while waiting for him to finish, sighing and shaking her head periodically. Finally, as he set down his bowl and settled back against the wall with either a mutter or a burp, she decided on a question. "How much of this are you going to regret tomorrow?"

One pale eye cracked open, and he glanced at her sidelong. "I don't think I have time for regrets."

She frowned—and as the statement processed, her jaw dropped again. "You're _faking."_

"Not so much."

"But you—"

Both eyes opened, and his fingers flexed against the floor. "You put up with it. Well, most of it." And then he was moving, crawling the couple paces over towards her, butting into her with his shoulder to knock her back so he could collapse beside her, his arm over her hips and his head warm against her stomach.

"I'll worry about bein' sober later." He nuzzled closer, rubbing his cheek against her body in a way that made her face burn. "And them. And stuff. But for now, this is good."

"You need to be happy I like you," she grumbled, even as she threaded her fingers through his hair.

"I am," he replied amicably. "And I'm sure of it. And that's good too."

She wasn't sure when she fell asleep, or when he moved her to her bed—or of how clear-headed he'd been when he did so. But he was gone when she woke up, and if not for the remains of their late dinner in her garbage, she might've been able to pretend it was a dream.

Until a bleary-eyed Tsunade stopped her on the way to morning training. "Sakura, do you . . . have any idea why there's tally marks carved into my desk?"

She shook her head as innocently as possible. "No. I have no idea."

Then the cause of both of their problems turned a corner further down the street, pausing to hiss at the sky as the sunlight hit his eyes, and Sakura giggled. Training could wait for a bit. Now was the time for her to sit Gaara down (again) and get some water into him; and once he felt a little better, she'd find out when he'd buy her dinner in return.


	11. Icy Cold Mess

**Icy Cold Mess**  
300 words  
T for half a situation  
Written for Challenge #27 at lethal empathy.

* * *

_It didn't matter that her intentions weren't pure—not when the Kazekage'd been caught in an unexpected snowstorm and been left a soggy, shivering, icy cold mess. So Sakura did what any proper medic would do: dragged him into her apartment and went to work._

"_If we don't get you out of those wet clothes, you're gonna get sick." _

_Gaara moved as if to protest, and she dumped him on the couch. From there he went passive, helping her pull his shirt over his head, kicking off his sandals and lifting himself so he could be de-pantsed._

_Sakura frowned at the temperature of his exposed skin. "It's too late. You're starting to get hypothermia. And . . . Well, there's only me here, and only one good way to warm up someone with hypothermia." Her hands raised to her shirt as she knelt over him. _

"_Whatever you say we have to do," Gaara said, his chilly hands against her thighs as her clothes started to come off as well. And—_

In Leaf, mid-trading discussion, Gaara paused to frown at the watching medic-nin. "There's something wrong with her," he said to Naruto. "She's been _leering_ at me since it started snowing."

"No way," Naruto started—then turned, paused, and frowned. "Oh. That's . . . Sakura-chan, are you—?"

Shaken from her daydream, Sakura jolted, a hand raising to her mouth as her cheeks flamed scarlet. "Sorry . . . it's, um . . . The weather. Did you bring a coat, Kazekage-sama?"

Gaara's forehead furrowed. "No."

The leer was back and gone so quickly Naruto almost missed it, replaced by overt sympathy. "Oh, that's _awful. _We'll have to keep you warm then, right?"

"I think Naruto's got that covered."

Sakura fainted on the spot, leaving both guys utterly, completely befuddled.


	12. Woobie

**Woobie**  
350 words  
A low rating? From me? Say it ain't so!  
The challenge was to use an unlikely caption from my macro collection and the citation of Gaara as he appears at tvtropesdotcom's definition of "woobie": "that character you want to wrap in a blanket and feed soup to when he suffers so very beautifully." The result . . .

* * *

"I've wanted to do this for a long time."

Sakura bared her teeth in a gleeful little smile, dragged Gaara into her living room, and plopped him down on the couch. When he tried to stand, she swept his legs up and . . . shoved a footstool under them.

"When it all came out—_all_ of it, not 'Gaara's a little bit crazy' or 'Gaara kinda had a hard life'—I started trying to think of something that'd help. And I know it isn't much, but—"

Gaara raised a hand as if in protest. She shoved a mug of hot chocolate into it. He blinked down at the mug, then back up at the determined face of his captor. "I don't want hot chocolate."

"Think of it as therapy."

"All things considered, I think I'm fairly well adjusted."

"That's what you say now," she rebutted; then clambered onto the couch beside him, ducking under his arm and wrapping her arm and leg around him. "But you know as well as I do: that doesn't just go away. So even if you're all stoic and quiet about it now . . ." Her cheek against his shoulder, she gazed up at him and started twining her fingers in his hair. "It's tragic, really. Terrible. Damn it, Gaara . . . You need a _hug._"

Gaara looked at Sakura, down at his hot chocolate, back at her . . . then shrugged and took a sip.

"Now," she said. "If there's anything I can do to help you with how you feel—"

Gaara perked up. "Anything?"

"_Anything,"_ she repeated, and snuggled a little closer against his side.

"Well . . ."

**ooo**

"And that," Gaara finished, "is how I got your teammate pregnant."

Naruto, restrained by three shinobi, gave a reply that sounded something like "Wharrgarbl."

"You know," Neji said, "when he asked what happened, I don't think he wanted full details."

"Actually," Shikamaru interjected from the sidelines, "I think it could use some _more_ detail."

But Gaara, running late for his next session of "therapy," was already gone.


	13. Mud and Hostages

**Mud and Hostages**  
Holiday Challenge  
About 1,200 words  
T/PG for situations  
Theme/Key phrase: "You put the bell _where?"_

* * *

As with any number of things, she was able to blame Naruto completely. After all, it'd been_ his_ plan to show Gaara how they'd trained as genin—and it'd been _his_ plan to break out the bell he'd nabbed from Kakashi.

Being guilty by association—or at least claimed as a playmate by association—Sakura ended up out on the training field, in the rain, trying to avoid both hypothermia and getting in the guys' way. Quite simply, she didn't _care_ about their training. One would eventually clobber the other—and Gaara was sneaky, so she had her money on him—and as long as she didn't end up clobbered by proxy, she needn't get involved at all. But her attempt failed miserably: Gaara'd made a pit trap, covered it with a mix of sand and illusion, and caught her as she went straight through it.

Capture she could deal with; being out of the game meant she could find a dry—well, dry-er, or dry-ish—place to sit down and watch the two try to kill each other. But Gaara didn't feel like letting things go so easily: _one_ of them had the damned bell, and he wanted it.

"I don't have it," she told him again, grasping at his wrists as his hands patted against her sides in an increasingly personal manner.

"First rule of interrogation," he said, "is to never believe the first confession you're told." He nabbed her hip pouch and, before she could get in a word of protest, dumped it onto the pit's sand-covered floor.

"I told you—" Sakura said—and then dove for his hands, trying to snatch a little notebook away before he could open it. This was a bad move on her part; the notebook's contents suddenly became worth defending from her, and Gaara'd always excelled at defense. She snarled and raised a fist, intending to pulverize both his shields and him . . . when slowly, cautiously, the sand in front of her dropped. Gaara held up the notebook curiously—and of course, it was flipped open to the rough sketch of him with little triangular ears and the caption "I am a Very Pretty Kitty."

Despite the rain and chill, Sakura felt her cheeks heating. "I can explain," she muttered.

"No need," he said, and tucked the notebook into a pocket. "It's not there."

She blinked with confusion. Then it registered: "Oh, the bell."

"Yeah." He folded his arms across his chest and regarded her as mildly as possible. "It could still be on you, though."

"It's not." Climbing out of this mud hole would be a task even without the Sand-nin dragging her back down like some berserk, touchy-feely ant lion.

"But you'd say that even if you had it," he returned. "And it'd make sense to hide it in your clothes, then hope I'd be polite enough to not go in after it." An arm snaked around her, and she found that their damp clothing transmitted his body heat very well.

"But . . . but you don't like—" Her palms fitted to his shoulders, possibly to launch him and possibly to return his hug. Unfortunately—as always, unfortunately—she didn't know which impulse to go with.

"It's not that I don't like _girls,_" he said. "I just like to be the hunter more than the hunted." And his hand started working its way along her rib cage, searching for the seam of her bra.

Oh great. Gaara was talking about relationships and trying to steal her clothing. She'd have witnessed the end of the world from the cold bottom of a cold and muddy pit trap as Gaara tried to get his cold, _cold_ hands on her—

This was so _not_ her idea of a good morning!

Impulse number one worked—she shoved him. "Damn it, Gaara! Don't you think you'd be able to tell if I have _anything_ in my bra—_without_ this?"

"Maybe." He considered momentarily, then wrapped his other arm around her and squeezed tightly, his cheek almost against hers, seeming to concentrate on how nothing jangled or pinched between them. Gaara finally glanced up, then back down the gap at the top of her shirt. "But I'm not done looking yet."

Her voice could've frosted the ground under their feet. "There's nothing to look for."

Gaara hooked a finger in the waistband of her shorts and smirked. "Then you won't object if I check?"

"But she really doesn't have it." Naruto peered down into their hole. "Or—Hey! Are you just tryin' to get her clothes off?"

Gaara looked up but didn't loosen his grip on her. "Do you have it?"

Naruto's eyes widened. "Does the clothes thing really work that way?"

Sakura thought of any number of things involving her teammate's sunny disposition juxtaposed with the gray rainy miserable day, and instead settled on thoughts of murder.

Gaara scowled and ignored the question. "Then you have it."

"It's not on me."

"You said one of you would have it." It looked like Gaara was trying to raise an eyebrow—if he'd had them. Instead one eye just got larger, making him look that much more unbalanced. Sakura knew he was thinking of the cold and the rain and the mud and how all of them could've slept in that morning. Well, maybe not _all_ of them; but the other points were still valid.

"And we do." Naruto grinned far too toothily. "You won't find it _on_ her—or on me either! You won't get a chance to see it at all!"

_Oh no,_ she thought._ Oh no, oh no, oh . . ._ _Don't let him have . . . he put it __**where?**_

Naruto paused, eyes narrowing. "Though maybe in a few days . . ."

Sakura half-collapsed where she stood, her forehead to Gaara's damp shoulder and a hand over her eyes. Gaara patted her back affably, and she choked down a hysterical giggle. Though in a way, she recognized her teammate's logic: It wasn't like Naruto's _friend_ would cut him open over something as silly as a training exercise.

But when she looked up, Gaara was watching her. "So, medic," he said casually. "Just how good are you?"

Naruto bolted before she could even finish processing the statement, leaving her alone with a dampened, bloodthirsty, strangely amorous madman.

"I hope you don't really want that bell," she said.

"No. Not really." He glanced up at the sky, then reached over and wiped some mud off her face with a gesture so tender she forgot why she ever questioned what his fangirls saw in him. "I say we're done here."

"My notebook?"

He released her and patted his pocket. "Next exercise: hostage negotiation."

Sakura bit the inside of her lip, knowing that she was aiming straight for ultimate-Gaara-turnoff fangirl territory . . . and tried anyway. "I'll buy you lunch for it."

He mustn't have seen anything worrisome in her expression, because his lips quirked into a tiny smile. "That's a start."

"A start?"

The ground under her feet lurched upward. She grabbed Gaara's arms for stability as his sand lifted them, mud-free, from the pit. "We'll see from there."


	14. Joining the Circus

**Joining the Circus**  
Done for a theme challenge at l_e again. AU, 500 words, and a hiccup of 'shippiness.  
The biggest challenge was making this one stay short. It's hard to flesh out turn-of-the-century scenery and whatnot in such a short space!

**ooo**

"Lift it and you're in," said the blond, Naruto—and dropped an oversized barbell in front of her.

Sakura stared in disbelief, and he sighed dramatically. "Don't tell me. You came in talking big, saying you could be _the_ strongwoman for our show, and I spent _all_ that time talking up my partner, and now—"

"It's not that I can't," she interrupted, and pointed at the weight. "I just wondered if that was it."

One of the two nearly identical "blind" fortune teller observers raised an eyebrow, and the guy napping in the pile of cloth that'd become their tent peered out from under his top hat.

Naruto seemed startled for only a second; then grinned almost from ear to ear. "Well, you know how it is. Someone comes in claiming to juggle knives, then gets all scared when we hand 'em knives and ask to see it."

Sakura put her foot against the weight's bar and pushed, trying to casually gauge its weight. "Then you throw them out on their ear?"

"Then we teach them about knife throwing," said the not-napping guy, and lifted his hat enough that she could see his eyes. Personally, she thought his nap needed to continue for another week or so.

"Lucky them," she said.

"They're lucky if I miss."

Maybe he was the infamous cold-hearted, temperamental partner—because if the looks of his hair meant he was a clown, he was already the most unsettling clown ever.

She reached down, grabbed the bar with one hand, and lifted, controlling her breathing to hide the strain and wholeheartedly praying that her face wouldn't turn beet red. "You'd think they'd know to not make claims they couldn't back up."

The guy smiled a little, rose with uncanny grace, and shook the ball of fabric that'd been his pillow until it became an extremely wrinkled burgundy tailcoat. "You were right," he told Naruto. "I like her."

"That's great," Naruto said, and slapped her on the back so hard she almost dropped the barbell. "Gaara doesn't like _anyone._ Besides us, of course."

Gaara rolled his eyes and inclined his head in a mockingly gracious little bow, and the small crowd of performers that'd gathered started to dissipate. "Don't let Lee pick her costume," said one of the fortune tellers as they walked away, and—Oh God, she hadn't known he was a guy.

And wait—was she in?

"Was that it?" she asked, dropping the weight and trying to keep the note of disbelief from her voice.

"Yes." Gaara approached her, lips set at something close to a smile. He rolled his top hat up his arm, popping it off his shoulder and catching it with a flourish that turned into a bow. Despite everything she'd told herself before, she wrung her hands and giggled like a smitten schoolgirl, and his smile became less mockery and more interest. "As the final say in your staying, I'll be the first to welcome you to our little circus."


	15. First Order of Business

Hey, I live!

**First Order of Business**  
About 400 words  
Rating: whatever means "clean" these days  
Light fluff

* * *

She'd never known him to touch liquor before, and wasn't sure if today was different because it was a celebration, or because the drink came from her hand.

"Would you have seen it coming?" she asked.

Gaara's smiles were slight and rare, and she treasured every one. "Maybe."

"When?" She filled her cup for the second time and sashayed over to his chair.

He shrugged and stared off at the wall, as frustratingly and blandly as possible.

Sakura rolled her eyes and circled around him. "Kakashi said he figured it out when I was twelve." Which wasn't exactly true, but no one would really argue it. Not with her; not now. She paused in the room's center, her untouched cup dangling from her fingertips, examining the familiar corners and angles and stone curves as if seeing them for the first time.

"Maybe you should get used to being here," she grinned over her shoulder. "Relax a little."

"This is relaxed."

She turned her studious gaze in his direction, then quirked an eyebrow at him exasperatedly. Obediently, he lifted his cup to his lips. Sakura felt the ridiculous urge to check his sake's level—she was next to certain he wasn't drinking it.

At least her knowing him this well meant he'd be less capable of pulling one over on her.

"Say it," she commanded, sharply.

"Hm?"

"Say it. I want you to say it."

"Congratulations." He raised his cup and blinked at her, remarkably placid.

"Not that."

"This sake is terrible."

"Not that either," she laughed. It'd taken her years to pick up on his sense of humor; most people remained sure he didn't have one.

He smiled again, she smiled back, and for a second it was enough to keep her happy. But it didn't look like he'd give in without another push.

She approached again, touched his shoulder with her fingertips. "You're gonna have to get used to it anyway."

"I know." He looked up at her, traces of humor still evident in the set of his mouth and around his eyes. "I'm used to it already."

"Then say it."

"Hokage."

She pushed at his shoulder again, smiling so wide that it almost hurt her face. "And do you have anything to declare to the Hokage? Treatises? Intentions?"

His smile this time was significantly toothier. "Intentions?" A teasing fingertip ran over the palm of her hand, sending a little shiver up her spine. "The same. But now I'm _especially_ looking forward to working out treaty agreements."


End file.
